


ne m’oublie pas

by crunchrapsupreme



Category: OFF (Game)
Genre: Clothed Sex, Frottage, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-18
Updated: 2013-09-18
Packaged: 2017-12-26 23:54:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/971781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crunchrapsupreme/pseuds/crunchrapsupreme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Do you ever miss it?” Zacharie says suddenly, curling his fingers slightly in the Batter’s grasp. “The touch of another human being?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	ne m’oublie pas

**Author's Note:**

> a prompt fill I did for my frand gisela uvu. cross posted to my [tumblr](http://alwaystryyourkanyebest.tumblr.com/post/48709918515/ne-moublie-pas-a-batterie-fic)

The train tracks rumble beneath them, and the outside is so hazy with color that he can’t even see beyond the window itself. It’s kind of soothing, like they’re traveling through an endless tunnel; safe, hypnotizing, constant. He bat clatters to the floor next to him on a particular rough jump in the tracks, and it shocks him out of his haze enough to sense eyes on him.

He turns, and Zacharie is eyeing him through his ridiculous mask, and if he stares hard enough, he can almost see the stiff cat ears twitch in response. The Batter shakes his head and tugs the brim of his hat down further, shadowing his eyes, but he jumps when he hears the familiar sound of Zacharie’s voice, heavy and soothing next to him.

“What do you think of the people here so far?”

The Batter huffs out a snort, crosses his arms over his chest and leans back further in his seat. “These things aren’t people. They haven’t been people for a long, long time.”

Zacharie makes a small sound of agreement. “I suppose,” and then he pauses for a brief moment before continuing, “What about me? I’m human.”

The Batter turns his head slightly, looks at the boy sitting next to him, and yeah, he  _looks_  human, but then again, most of the monsters he’s encountered so far look human at first too. For a brief second, he’s almost expecting Zacharie’s mask to fall from his face, and see boiling black tar dripping from his mouth and eye sockets. The Batter shakes his head, because if anything, Zacharie’s been the only _constant_  since he’s come here.

“How do I know you’re human? You could be a fucking burnt for all I know,” he says, and his lips sneer just slightly. “This place, the so called ‘people’ here, they fuck with you, Zacharie.”

He’s beginning to sound slightly hysterical, and he takes a few breaths to calm himself, not having noticed the boy next to him a few inches closer.

He sucks in a sharp breath when he feels careful fingertips brush against his jaw, and he lets his eyes stray to the merchant in question.

“I’m human,” Zacharie says, tracing the contours of the Batter’s face, running against the vague stubble along his cheek. The Batter reaches up after a few moments and hesitantly places a hand over Zacharie’s, and fuck, it’s  _warm_.

It’s warm, and soft, and he can feel the blood pumping through his veins, and he can smell the salty sweet scent of  _flesh_. He’s not boiling hot and scalding, like the tortuous touch of a burnt, and he’s not icy cold and dead, like the brush of a specter against his knuckles before he bashes them in.

The Batter grips Zacharie’s wrist, feels his pulse point skip and jump beneath his fingertips, and it’s so completely fucking  _human_.

“Do you ever miss it?” Zacharie says suddenly, curling his fingers slightly in the Batter’s grasp. “The touch of another human being.”

The Batter shrugs, although he can’t bring himself to stop fucking fondling the merchant’s hand, running his own calloused ones along the soft, fleshy palm. “I don’t think I even remember what another person’s touch feels like.”

It’s quiet for a moment, just the soft breathing of the two men in the train, and when Zacharie scoots even closer, whispers a barely audible, “I could help you remember, if you want,” the Batter feels his own fingers clench around the younger boy’s.

He considers saying no. He considers scooting over to the other end of the train bench. He considers yanking his hand back and tugging his hat down so far he can’t even fucking see, can’t even  _remember_.

When he turns his head, Zacharie is right there, right fucking there, and he’s tilting his head like some sort of child, almost as if taunting him, and the Batter’s fingers shake as he finally lets himself reach up, slipping Zacharie’s mask up to reveal his mouth, lips parted, inviting.

“It’s okay,” Zacharie says, and the Batter just watches his lips move to form the words, feels warm breath against his face, smelling raw sugar and smoke invading his lungs, and he can’t help it when he finally darts forward and presses their lips together.

It’s warm, almost too much, and fucking gentle and soft and everything he’s forgotten since he’s arrived here. He knows he’s beginning to seem desperate as he grabs Zacharie by the hips and pulls him into his lap, but the merchant isn’t complaining, only arching into the touch, using his completely human hands to press against taut shoulders.

Zacharie straddles him, grinds down unconsciously, and shit, when did  _that_  get there? The Batter hisses through his teeth, uses one hand to grip Zacharie’s thigh, uses his other hand to creep underneath his ridiculous oversized sweater, pressing his fingers into the give of the merchant’s stomach.

Zacharie mewls happily, curving his back deliciously again, and his mask has slipped up a tad more, revealing the bottom of his nose, visible scars crisscrossing his cheeks. The Batter darts forward, sucks at a prominent scar on the curve of Zacharie’s jaw, and revels in the merchant’s responsive breathy pants.

He’s warm and solid against the Batter’s chest, his hips grinding down erratically and pressing theirarousals together. Their clothing is an annoying barrier, but the Batter is too scared of breaking whatever he’s feeling right now to attend to it, instead just wrapping a strong, athletic arm around Zacharie’s waist and grinding up into him harshly again.

The Batter buries his head into Zacharie’s exposed neck, mouthing at the tendons and inhaling the sharp scent of skin and sweat, and god, it’s fucking addicting. He’s felt so bare and alone and vague in this place, and this right here is like a goddamned breath of sweet fucking oxygen, grounding him and bringing him back to sanity, at least for a little while.

Zacharie tenses and shudders against his chest when he finally releases, and the Batter follows suit almost immediately, the shock of his orgasm ripping a surprised groan from his normally quiet demeanor. Zacharie rolls his hips some more, milking it for all it’s worth, and eventually he goes pliant and limp in the Batter’s lap, resting his half-masked face against the purifier’s shoulder, breathing softly.

The train stops, jerking them both from their relaxed trance, and Zacharie lets out a quiet chuckle, nosing along the sharp curve of the Batter’s jaw briefly before climbing off his lap and straightening his sweater and lowering his mask again.

The Batter stares up at him, mouth dry, nerves fluttering compellingly, and Zacharie runs a hand through his disheveled hair before tilting his head again, mask almost leering at the purifier, before sweeping his hands out in a wide, beautiful arc.

  
“Welcome to Zone 3, puppet.”


End file.
